


Impurity

by silvered



Category: Rome (TV 2005)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Power Dynamics, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvered/pseuds/silvered
Summary: Antony embeds himself in Caesar's considerations like an impurity under the shell of an oyster.
Relationships: Mark Antony/Julius Caesar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Impurity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skazka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skazka/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I read your fantastic letter and just had to treat you. I hope you like this!

Antony was in a bad mood. Caesar heard him coming from what felt like a mile away. His curses shook the camp around them; Caesar tried to picture him. He had sent Antony to root out some local Gauls in an ambush, and he should have been back earlier, and that had concerned Caesar mildly.

But he had lived, and he was alive and angry enough to be waking the whole camp up with his rage.

Caesar sat back on Antony’s bed and waited. The door of Antony’s tent seemed to explode as his dark head and mud-spattered body burst through the cloth opening, and he didn’t notice Caesar as he set down his weapons and turned to pour himself a cup of wine.

“Jupiter’s cock,” he growled to himself, as he drained the cup without a second’s pause.

“You’re back. Late,” Caesar said, and Antony started, but he collected himself and glared at Caesar hard.

“Yes. The fuckers had teamed up with a deserter from our camp, they knew we were coming.”

Caesar trailed his eyes up and down Antony’s sweaty, angry form. He lingered on the spatters of mud, the dark red streaks that looked like blood, and on Antony’s legs, daubed with both and still strong beneath him. Antony looked back at him steadily.

“We got fucked as soon as we arrived, and they cut my horse’s legs from under me. Lucky to survive, really.”

“It wasn’t luck,” Caesar said, taking in the dark mud streaked down Antony’s hard thighs, with lighter lines where his sweat had started to wash it away. Antony watched him sullenly.

“The deserter?”

“Dead,” Antony said, nostrils flared, “and not too slowly.” He poured Caesar a cup of wine and handed it to him; Caesar took it but did not drink. His eyes remained on Antony.

“Good,” Caesar said. Antony’s hot heavy scent of blood, sweat and battlefield filth filled his nostrils, and it was better than the finest telinium.

Antony turned away, and was systematically beginning to unstrap his armour. Caesar held up his hand. “Wait.”

There was an ugly sneer on Antony’s lip when he turned back. He had expected this.

“ _Wait_? I want to wash off this mud and this traitor’s blood, and end this fucking cunt of a day.”

“And so you shall,” Caesar said, eyes locked on him, “but I want something from you first.”

“Of course,” Antony sneered. “Your tribute.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call it that,” Caesar said, but his tone was mild, and Antony’s lips twisted.

“Call it what we will, but we both know what this is.”

We do, Caesar agreed silently.

He was close to Caesar now, dark eyes locked. Caesar inhaled the strange dark scent again, the smell of the sweat and blood and filth of the battlefield on him, pouring in waves now off his body as he responded to Caesar, and his blood surged inside him. No perfume ever suited Antony so well. Anthony noticed something in his face, which Caesar disliked. It never did to give too much away of his own emotions in this matter if he could avoid it.

Caesar rose from the bed, and took Antony’s mouth in a kiss. His mouth was salty and hot, and Caesar traced a hand down the hard side of Antony’s thigh as they kissed.

“I won’t take much time,” Caesar said, watching Antony’s face, before he moved into position behind him. A droplet of sweat leaked down the back of Antony’s neck and Caesar licked it. He felt Antony tense and heard him draw in breath.

Caesar pushed aside his tunic and freed himself; with his free hand he did the same for Antony.

“Keep your legs closed,” he ordered, as he spat on his hand and slid it between Antony’s thighs.

“Always been a problem for me,” Antony returned, and Caesar ignored him as he squeezed his cock between Antony’s thighs. The pressure was almost too much – Antony’s thighs were hard with many years of muscle – but Caesar was harder still and his fingers tightened around Antony’s cock as he pressed hard against Antony’s back and started thrusting.

The friction was delicious – the slippery sweat on the inside of Antony’s thighs that he’d earned killing Caesar’s enemies only added to it, Caesar thought, and he breathed harshly in Antony’s ear as he rubbed and pushed against him.

“Old soldier’s trick, this,” Antony panted, “didn’t think you’d know of it.”

Caesar didn’t respond, but he wondered as he often did if Antony’s genius as a general and as a companion made up for his crassness elsewhere. As he felt himself close, he decided it didn’t matter. Antony was what he was, and Caesar loved him for it.

Caesar came, breath hot and hair darkened with sweat just before he felt Antony come on his hand, and he propped himself against his favourite general’s back as he felt his release trickle down the inside of Antony’s thighs. As he tucked himself back in, Antony turned to him and gave him a sly look.

“Sounded like you needed that. Don’t tell me you missed me.”

Caesar said nothing, and Antony smiled.

“I know, I know. Here to serve you and be happy about it, that’s me.”

“And are you?” Caesar said quietly.

“What else could I want?” Antony said. His tone was lightly mocking, as ever, but Caesar thought he detected sincerity beneath it. He decided that was enough.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll need a full debriefing in the morning but in the meantime you may want to find yourself a bathing slave.”

“As soon as you go,” Anthony said, sardonic look back on his face.

Caesar thought about it; there was really nothing to prevent him from staying and watching Antony being scrubbed and scraped and dowsed if he so desired. For a wild flickering moment, he even considered forbidding Antony to wash himself, to preserve the intoxicating scent. But the fact that he did made him wary. It would not do to be too close to a subordinate, even one as talented as Antony. He had already given away too much this time.

“Get some rest, we’ll speak tomorrow,” Caesar said. He turned and left before his favourite general could suspect anything, inhaling the cool night air and letting the Gaulish breeze wash Antony from him as he went.


End file.
